


Last Christmas

by chooken



Series: 12 Days of Westlife [1]
Category: Westlife
Genre: Anal Sex, Dressing Room Sex, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Oral Sex, Past Relationship(s), Quickies, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 08:15:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8837236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chooken/pseuds/chooken
Summary: It's been a year since Kian and Shane broke up, and after all this time Nicky thinks maybe Shane should have made their new relationship official.Inspired by Last Christmas, by Wham.





	

The first kiss is heaven, wet on his mouth.

The second...

“Oh.” Nicky closes his eyes, a sharp breath whistling between his teeth as lips wrap around him, sliding down. “Yeah, so, moving fast, then?” He laughs, feeling suddenly a little broken. There's a growl around him. He groans, hips arching into the hum of it. “Jesus, Shane...” The gasp that tips off his bottom lip drags him with it, plummeting into the sin of that mouth, into the cheeky gaze that glistens up from darkening hazel eyes.

“Missed you,” is the reply. Nicky regrets that Shane had to pull off to say it.

“Missed you. Definitely. _Fuck_.” His eyes roll back, head tipping to follow them. “Ah, bloody hell.” He shivers. Shane's hands are stroking up his thighs, somehow edging his trousers down at the same time. Nicky isn't sure how many hands Shane has, but they're all doing a very good job. “Fuck, Shay.” The ride is gaining momentum, and Nicky is just trying to hang on. “So... hi. Hey. Good holiday?” When he looks down, Shane's shoulder is hitching in a shrug. His head tips a nod. “Cool. Me too.”

Nicky's arse has met the dressing room table, at some point, guided there by careful hands. Shane's tongue is a masterpiece, making loops and swirls, tracing the path of pleasure until Nicky can't help but let out a soft howl.

“Fucking _hell_.”

Shane pulls off, laughing. “You can stop talking,” he says. “We can catch up after.”

“Oh. Yeah. Good, then.” Shane bobs back down. Nicky wants to watch, really does, but fuck this is so _good_.

His head rocks back again, eyes screwing shut. They've only been apart six days, and Nicky couldn't say he'd forgotten what this was like, exactly, but bloody hell if it doesn't exceed expectations. It's only been a couple of months, officially. Though Nicky doesn't know if it counts as official if nobody else knows. Not really. Still, he's said things to Shane that are usually quite serious, and Shane, for the most part, has said them back.

That's probably a good sign.

He hadn't expected it entirely. Hadn't wanted it. Not that it was the worst thing in the world, because he'd certainly always admired Shane. He was cute, they were good friends, and occasionally Nicky had to admit he allowed himself the indulgence of checking him out a little bit. It was innocent. Shane and Kian had been together, and he'd never dreamed of stepping on any toes.

The blazing row he'd walked in on over a year ago made him suspect that toes were the least of their worries. The next one, the one where Kian had stormed out, had been just the start of their problems.

So Nicky definitely hadn't gone there. It had been a nerve-wracking few months, the three of them dancing around their bandmates, trying to stop the powder keg and the spark from getting too intimate and blasting the whole thing into the sky. Shane hadn't spoken to Kian, Kian hadn't spoken to Shane, and he, Mark and Bryan had played careful interference, distracting the sullen glares and stony silences the best they could.

He doesn't know, exactly, what ended them. Has a feeling, has since Shane turned and kissed him, one evening, slow and gentle, and Nicky felt himself... deflate. Like he's been stretched too thin all this time and Shane let everything out. Everything he's been thinking and feeling and not allowing himself to think and feel.

And now Shane is busy sucking his sanity out through his cock.

“That's it,” he murmurs. Shane is hitting a stride now. Solid, climbing pressure. “That's it, love.” He looks down, sees possessive hazel eyes look up. He supposes it makes sense not to tell the others. Kian is probably not going to be impressed.

Still...

He lets out a disappointed moan as the hot seal around him relents. Then Shane is standing, and in his arms, and he doesn't much mind. A hand forces between them, working a slow, teasing rhythm.

“You want me?” Shane urges. Nicky shudders. Loves it like this. When Shane is a step from barely asking permission. Hard and coaxing, making Nicky say what he wants. “You want me to fuck you, babe?”

“Shane...!” He almost squeals as he's lifted onto the table. They're due on stage in two hours. It's probably packed backstage, but they've somehow manage to wrangle individual dressing rooms. Nicky was the first to arrive. Shane, apparently, was the second.

In two hours it seems he's going to go out there and sing Christmas Carols to a live audience of kids and families, freshly fucked and probably with a limp.

Shane had better not mess up his hair.

He arches when Shane ducks down again, his thighs shuddering to stay open as he's taken in again. It's hard, though, so hard, when all he wants to do is clamp in, get a grip on dark hair, and whimper himself into a puddle. Fingers press at him, screwing pressure that sets him alight.

One finger. Two. His hands dig into the edge of the table, and he's sure he's going to leave claw marks.

“Baby,” he gasps. Shane is chuckling around him. Then he's pulling off, ducking down, and Nicky's hips are yanked forward into an unnatural tilt to make room for Shane's tongue. Nicky practically yowls. Shane, kissing him open, rough and soft at the same time, delicate in a way that feels completely unstoppable. He might actually be melting. He might be going mad.

He hears Shane's belt clink open over the roar of pleasure in his ears, and when Shane leans up to kiss him again, he can taste himself.

Shane produces a condom. Was planning this, apparently. He rips open a packet of lube once it's rolled on, and Nicky reaches down to help him slick it, savouring the lustful shudder in response, wanting to feel like he's in control of this for a bit. Like Shane feels as good as he does.

“Holidays? Good?”

“Fine. You?” Shane yanks him forward as he replies. Nicky's hand is knocked free as he's returned to the floor then spun around, pushed to bend over the table. One hand finds the wall, bracing himself. The other is on the edge of the table for purchase. He fells Shane circle him, firm and slick.

“Grand. Ta,” Nicky gasps. Shane presses, and oh, fast fluid slide, sheathed before Nicky can _breathe_. He blurts out a cry, bites down on it. They may have their own rooms, but the walls aren't bloody soundproof. He's still trying to get his breath back when a hand palms over his tailbone, thumb trailing down the top of his crack and slipping in sweat.

“Nicky.” Shane sucks in a hoarse breath. “That's...”

“Yes.” Nicky gulps. “Yes. Ah...” It hurts. Like electricity, sharp arousal, pinching spread that thinks it's pleasure more than pain. There's a harsh grunt behind him, then he feels himself go boneless as Shane pulls back, drawing him out. Nicky's fingers scrabble at the wall.

They spread and brace as he's slammed into again. Hand splaying, his elbow taking the jolt. It forces his breath out, an appreciative _unh_ that Shane echoes. This is perfect. Primal. Kisses are biting to the back of his neck, some small affection as strong thighs brace against his.

“Yes,” Shane breathes, voice glancing off sweat. Nicky shivers. “Want that?”

“Yes...” He's never allowed himself to admit how much. The last few months have been a different story.

But it's been a year. Almost a year since Kian and Shane called it quits. They'd been temperamental, sure, but at the time Nicky hadn't expected it. Had been rooting for them, honestly. Especially on Christmas Eve, when Shane had gotten on bended knee and said please, and Kian had gone pale and bitten his lip, and said he had to think about it.

Nicky's heart had broken for him. For both of them.

Shane had his own room two weeks later. Has had one, ever since.

Maybe soon he won't. Nicky wants to ask. Doesn't know how to begin.

Because if Shane says no, it might break his heart again.

He wishes he was sure Shane would say yes.

“Yes...” Shane groans. Nicky pushes back. Nails rake up the backs of his thighs, making him buckle a little, both hands against the wall now. Savage and delicious. They fuck like this, sometimes. More often than not, if he's honest. Hard. Brutal. Cathartic, in a way. Nicky doesn't care, not as long as he knows Shane's only thinking about him.

“Oh god.” Every thrust is a breath. His chest is heaving. “Oh god. Oh...”

“Nicky.” Hands thread with his, helping him brace. He appreciates it more than he can say, pathetically, and isn't sure why. Some concession to guiding him through this, that Shane is thinking about him, supporting him, in a way that isn't just friendship. That could be more, in the way Nicky...

“Gonna come,” Shane mutters. Nicky groans. He's almost there as well. Can't not be. Shane's hips are tilted, the curve fitting perfectly, striking up and through and fast and _fuck_ that's it. His hands bunch into claws, elbows folding up. He's hanging on too tight to Shane's hands, and one of them needs to extricate one soon, because he can't keep...

“Unh...” He sobs. Pleads. Can't let go. “Shane...”

“Got you,” Shane murmurs. Nicky wants to cry. “Almost there.”

“Yes...” He arches his back. Loosens his grip for Shane's hand to slip free, feels the caress almost immediately, helping him along. It's excruciating. His free hand clings to their held ones, a ball of fingers and grip, sweat squelching with every hammering thrust. Teeth bite into the back of his neck, soothed with a lick a moment later.

“Tell me.”

“Want it,” Nicky croaks. “Oh... _Shane_. Want _you_.”

“Yes.” There's a jolt, and Shane is buried, balls-deep and fixed, grinding into him all of a sudden. Nicky grinds back, feels everything flutter together, feels himself fall apart, spilling over Shane's hand and onto the floor under the table.

He's really glad it's not carpet.

When he feels able to move again, he doesn't want to. Shane is still buried in him, kissing slowly across his shoulders. Sweet, breathless kisses that Nicky hopes are as sincere as he wants them to be. He feels limp. Sated. Overheated, clammy with sweat, and wanting quite to stay here forever, even if it is bent over a table in a dressing room, backstage at a bloody carols event.

He's still there, trying to slow his breathing, when the door opens.

He doesn't know what to say. Not when clear blue eyes widen in confusion, when he sees the look of horror on Kian's face.

“Ehm...” Shane is still in him. He pulls out too slowly. Nicky's lips stutter on empty words.

He feels abruptly unforgiveable. Kian's gaze darts between the two of them. His lips purse into a line.

He storms away.

“Kian...” Nicky's trousers are still around his ankles. “Shit. Shane...”

“I'll...” Shane is already buckling his belt. “I'll talk to him. Don't worry.” He kisses Nicky quickly. “It's not your fault.”

“You didn't lock the door?”

“I must have forgotten.” Nicky is suddenly sure that Shane is lying. About what, he doesn't know, but there's something there. Behind his eyes. Something... “I'll sort it out, okay?”

He strides from the room. The door shuts.

Nicky leans against the table, trying not to feel like the worst person in the world.

He's trying to get his thoughts in order when he sees Shane's phone on the carpet. Fell out of his pocket, probably, when he dropped trou. Nicky picks it up.

There's part of a message flashing on the screen.

He opens it properly, though he can already see what it says, even if the whole picture hasn't come together yet.

It's from Kian.

_I'll be there in ten._

Nicky scrolls up. Shane's message, two minutes before that one.

_Band meeting. Nicky's dressing room in 15 minutes?_

He hasn't sent it to either of the others.

Nicky looks up, a lump in his throat as he looks at the door. The one Shane must have forgotten to lock, where minutes before he could only see a horrified face, frozen in hurt. Shane's face, almost a year ago, crumbling when Kian said he wanted to think.

Nicky pulls up his trousers, trying to ignore the thrumming ache Shane has left.

 


End file.
